


Going Baggins Way

by Squirrelslawlz



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo, M/M, Rule 63, Sassy Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squirrelslawlz/pseuds/Squirrelslawlz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bilba Baggins, what would your mother say about this?” She could think of a great many things that Belladonnna would have said but none would be considered entirely polite, even to a guest one had forcibly locked out.</p><p>“Gandalf, I’ve had quite enough to ruin my reputation and I don’t need a Disturber of the Peace to finish it off.” She called, hoping he would leave without any fuss. What had once been a vague recollection of a kindly old man had turned into a sinister connection to the unnatural when grievances had been aired leaving a lasting impression on the hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rosamunda and the Outsider

It was universally acknowledged amongst the hobbits of the Shire that having Bilba Baggins at one’s party was a must. Going Baggins Way became a popular way of announcing an upcoming event as a hobbit made their way along the winding road to the outskirts of the Old Forest. While an invite was expected to be personally handed to Mad Bilba Baggins, it was not expected to stay for tea. Something that the fleeing hobbit could be thankful for as they made their way back to the cozy splendor of their smial and away from the pressing dark of the forest that loomed large behind the cottage of Bilba Baggins.

Rosamunda Brandybuck was just stepping out of her smial Going Baggins Way one fine spring day when the start of something strange began to happen.

“Pardon me but where might I find Bilba Baggins?” Stopping short of the tall man’s legs Rosamunda took a moment to adjust her umbrella. One never knew with Tall Folk after all.

Drawing herself up to the formidable height of three foot two, Rosamunda fought to keep the huff from her voice as she answered, “My good sir, Mad Bilba Baggins lives a goodly distance from here by the Old Forest. I will thank you to remove your scandalous presence from my home and go about your business.” Figuring the matter settled she took a moment to tug her hat into place and began her march on Baggins Way. Only the Tall Folk wouldn’t take a hint, she thought as his much larger stride easily kept pace with her own.

“Ah, I seem to recall Belladonna Baggins being the owner of a rather handsome smial just outside of Hobbiton.” The strange man pondered, using his pipe to tap at his bottom lip in thought.

“Well, that was a long time ago, I assure you. It is now home to the Sackville-Baggins’ and has been for some time.” While it was poor manners to revel in one’s success Rosamunda couldn’t help a slight tingle of satisfaction on her cousin Lobelia’s behalf from giving her an extra spring in her step as she continued on. Bungo Baggins had been a well-liked hobbit with much to offer. His choice to settle with Belladana Took had been an unfortunate oversight but she couldn’t slight his taste in home building.

“Ah, that would explain it entirely then.” Keeping her eyes on the road Rosamunda did her best to ignore the drab man as he continued along the lane with her. Part of going Baggins Way was to politely tip one’s head to any one passed on the road, a rough flick of the invite showing just how put upon the giver of the party was to deliver the invite. Any hobbit to see such a display understood the burden, tutting after them about what an auspicious party they would surely have after undertaking such a chore.

While making sure to tip her head downwards to declare to all she passed just how tiring the midday sun was on her journey, she took the opportunity to study the man walking beside her though lowered lashes. Gray clothing draped his form and a crooked hat completed his look as a complete ruffian. While he had not harmed her yet Rosamunda could feel inquiring gazes and knew her upcoming birthday celebration would not be the only topic of conversation in the Shire come the morning.

Feeling up to a bit of gossip, her favorite pass-time amongst her knitting circle, Rosamunda spoke just loud enough to have her voice carry to the man she was walking with, “It was quite the scandal. Belladana Baggins’ daughter was always an unusual lass. Now, it’s said by some she’s unnatural. All tosh if you ask me, just not quite right in the head if you catch my meaning.” Emboldened by having the stranger’s complete attention she continued on, “After the poor thing lost her parents it was a question of what would happen. A big smial like that, all to herself? No, the Thain stepped in and sorted the entire problem out. Of course, we couldn’t leave her to fend for herself and she is such a strange creature the entire Shire has stood behind her, invites her to gatherings, and some even bring her food to help. It’s all turned out for the best.” Realizing she had lost her audience as he had turned his gaze to the road and was clenching tight to his staff, she fell silent. When she had first come across him he had seemed to barely be able to keep upright so bent with age had he been. Now, his back had straightened and it felt as if the very air had changed. Rosamunda bit her tongue and walked on.

After an hour of quiet and feeling increasing off put Rosamunda could safely say she had had enough. “Now, what is an Outsider such as yourself doing in the Shire?” Every hobbit knew Outsiders weren’t to be trusted. Even though Bree was overrun with non-hobbit folk the Shire at large was virtually untraveled by those like the man she now found herself walking with. His strange behavior only confirmed that Outsiders should not to be permitted to wander the Shire.

“I’m no Outsider, Mistress Rosamunda. I am very much an Insider, as it were.” The man grinned down at her, taking in the way she started when he said her name.

“I haven’t the slightest clue who you are, sir…” She could feel her ears reddening in mortification that an Outsider would know her name let alone speak it so informally. Rosamunda could almost feel the tremor of outrage in her hands as he interrupted her. Gone was the heavy air that had hung about him and his eyes again twinkled with merriment.

“Yes, yes, my dear Madam - and I do know your name, Mrs. Rosamunda Brandybuck. And you do know my name, though you don’t remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me!” The old codger looked delighted by his own silliness.

Making the sign of the Green Lady across her breast Rosamunda knew she had little time to escape the madman. Hitching up her skirt, umbrella tightly in hand, she broke out into a steady jog. What had seemed like a minor inconvenience of an Outsider trailing after her now unfolded before her eyes as a ruinous walk with a Disturber of the Peace. Had she looked back she would have seen the befuddlement on the man’s face as his walking companion fled before him.

By the time she made it to the slightly crooked front gate of Bilba Baggins' cottage Rosamunda could hear a sight wheeze as she gulped down each lungful. The relief of seeing Bilba tending to her garden gave her the second wind she needed to hurry up the front path and declare, “Bilba Baggins, my fortieth birthday party is in a fortnight. I would very much like for you to come.” 

Without waiting for an answer Rosamunda Brandybuck tossed the invite to Mad Bilba Baggins before beating a hasty retreat back to Bucklebury proper.


	2. Bilba's Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As her mother had been so fond of saying, you couldn’t unring the bell. Best to get on with it then.

In a small cottage at the edge of the Old Forest there lived a hobbit. Mad Bilba Baggins had begun construction on what would become her modest home before her mother, Belladonna Baggins, had passed away during the Fell Winter. What had started as a pleasant project of childhood fantasy had become a safe haven when the rumbling of discontent had swept over her neighbors and removed her from her home of Bag End.

Bilba knew a few things with certainty and practiced them religiously. A good meal is never to be turned down, all things were to be borne with the grace of any Baggins, adventures were a serious business indeed, and most importantly not every end could be anticipated. It was the last thought that stood out to her the most when none other than Rosamunda Brandybuck came huffing up the road with a wild look in her eye, an invite clutched in one tiny fist.

Schooling her face into something resembling pleasantness an introduction was on the tip of her tongue before Rosamunda all but shouted, “Bilba Baggins, my fortieth birthday party is in a fortnight. I would very much like for you to come.” 

Bilba had hardly put her watering can down before Rosamunda had tossed the invite and turned to go back the way she came. While it was true no hobbit stayed for any tea or discussion all had at least stayed long enough to exchange the pleasantries required by any polite hobbit. Biting back a parting shot, Bilba went to retrieve the letter before she spotted the man approaching down the road. 

Feeling every nerve in her body tense in horror Bilba scrambled to get into her home and lock the door. “Ah, Bilba Baggins, just the hobbit I was looking for!” The man called cheerily, going so far as to wave his hat in greeting.

“No! No thank you!” Barricading herself behind the door Bilba lamented not doing more to reinforce the door-frame as she shoved the sliding lock home. 

“Bilba Baggins, what would your mother say about this?” She could think of a great many things that Belladonnna would have said but none would be considered entirely polite, even to a guest one had forcibly locked out.

“Gandalf, I’ve had quite enough to ruin my reputation and I don’t need a Disturber of the Peace to finish it off.” She called, hoping he would leave without any fuss. What had once been a vague recollection of a kindly old man had turned into a sinister connection to the unnatural when grievances had been aired leaving a lasting impression on the hobbit. 

“Bilba Baggins, I have not come halfway across the world to have a door closed in my face.” He intoned, making the door rattle in its frame. Bilba knew when she was beaten. Giving it up as a hopeless cause she took a moment to straighten her dress and opened the door to the man who loomed above her. 

“Why thank you, my dear.” It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened as he stooped down to enter her small cottage. Hurrying to find a chair that could bear his weight Bilba gave up her reputation as a loss. No doubt the polite conversation she had enjoyed as party invites were delivered would disappear as well. After placing the chair in front of him, she carefully placed a teapot on the fire to heat.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Gandalf?” If her tone was slightly frosty she felt it could be forgiven. To barge in on someone after they had closed the door was the height of rudeness, a slight on the person’s ownership of the home to be forced to allow entry after they had denied it.

“Let’s not talk business just yet,” he deferred, subtly examining the earthenware plates that she set out for the scones. “I am very curious what would send my walking partner running from me as soon as they heard my name and hoped you might be able to help me puzzle it out.”

Settling herself down opposite her mother’s friend Bilba turned the issue over in her head, “Do you mean to tell me Rosamunda was actually walking with you?” While hobbits were a hospitable people there were certain things that were simply not done. To walk in step with a Disturber of the Peace was akin to declaring support for the other. A genteel hobbit such as Rosamunda would walk in time and pace with a stranger out of politeness, to show trust and trustworthiness but otherwise such a gesture would be reserved for close friends or family. 

“Of course, I made sure she set foot first but I must admit I have never had that response from a hobbit before.” He puzzled, folding his long fingers together, peering over them at the small hobbit sitting opposite him. “Bilba, you seem just as young as when I last saw you.” His gaze seemed like a physical touch as it slid from her lack of crow’s feet to the baby fat that still clung to her cheeks, the hobbit forcibly kept her face neutral under the scrutiny.

“You’re a Disturber of the Peace, Gandalf. While my mother may have enjoyed keeping pace with you not all hobbits see it as some harmless foot-stepping.” Feeling too much like the Old Took, Bilba roused herself enough to offer her guest a casual shrug in an attempt to ease the slight.

“Your mother was a special hobbit.” Pursing her lips Bilba acknowledged the sentiment with a nod of the head. Her mother had been a special hobbit to go on adventures and had been afraid of little in life. It hadn’t changed even when faced with a pack of wolves during the Fell Winter. Bilba could be glad that she had gone into the Green Lady’s embrace reliving her glory days as she fought the beasts back. 

Hearing the kettle Bilba was grateful for the distraction. If this was how having guests were she could be glad that none who delivered invites had stayed to chat. While she would occasionally go to visit Tom and his wife Goldberry, their company was one of acceptance and solitude. Even when Tom would draw out his flute to play or spoke in his unique rhyming way there was no pressing need to respond. With Gandalf she felt laid bare before his searching eyes that seemed to notice every missing mathom and each piece of evidence of the diminished means with which she now lived.

Setting out two chipped tea cups, she poured them both a generous portion before resuming her seat. “I’m sure you didn’t come all this way just to chat about my mother, Gandalf.” Primly stirring in a spoonful of sugar, the hobbit was careful to ignore the strange man’s amused look. 

“As a matter of fact I did. Just as with your mother before you I have an adventure that needs doing and you’re just the hobbit for it.” Gandalf announced, looking pleased with himself as he sipped his tea.

“No, thank you. Adventures are nasty things. Never know where your feet might take you on them. No, I think I’ve had quite enough adventures to last a lifetime.” She gave her tea a firm swirl of her spoon to settle the matter. It was just like him to sweep in and try to coax her out of her home and into the wilds.

“You’ve changed. And not entirely for the better, Bilba Baggins.” The rebuke was clear in his voice as he looked down his long nose at her. For a moment she felt like the young fauntling she had been, being scolded for her latest prank. “Yes, I think this will be good for you. The rest of our group will be arriving in time for dinner I imagine.”

At the mention of others Bilba could hardly keep herself from leaping up to find her broom to teach the meddling man a lesson he would be hard pressed to forget. “Gandalf, you can’t. You couldn’t have invited others into my home without my permission.” 

“Bilba, it’s only a few dwarves who have been on the road for some time, surely some hospitality towards them is not such a hardship.” He scoffed, making a point of calmly drinking his tea.

Bilba could feel the color drain from her face as she realized the enormity of what was happening. “You daft codger, I’ll be run out of town!” She allowed herself a moment of overwhelming terror before giving herself a firm mental shake. “There’s nothing for it, I’ll have to come with you so far as Tom Bombadil’s house. Now, since you’re the reason I’m to lose my home I expect you to go to the market and purchase food for the meal you no doubt promised those dwarves while I get my affairs in order here.”

Ignoring any further attempts at conversation, she waited for the wizard to storm out of her cottage in a huff before she began the process of packing up her life. While she no longer had any items worth any real value things like her mother’s travelling cloak and father’s walking stick were brought out and lovingly packed away. Getting together a range of clothing that could be alternated out as weather and wear demanded Bilba could admit to herself that she had known today had been the last day in her small cottage ever since she had awoken. Seeing Gandalf coming down the lane and hearing what he had done was only the final nail in the coffin.

As her mother had been so fond of saying, you couldn’t unring the bell. Best to get on with it then.


	3. Meeting the Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Master dwarf, there is no Bilbo Baggins. There is however a Bilba Baggins and you are in her home.” Ignoring the look of confusion on the dwarves’ faces she slid into the role of consummate hostess, “Now, go ahead and take off your boots, I’ll take your cloaks.” When they only stared at her Bilba knew they weren’t used to taking orders from creatures half their size. Well, they would learn.

After finishing packing Bilba turned to the task of cooking. While her small one room cottage wasn’t luxurious she had been brought up with the strictest sense of how to treat guests. Guests weren’t to want for anything and while Bilba had little to share she vowed to make her unexpected visitors feel comfortable. Taking dried venison out of storage she began the process of making a hardy stew. While many hobbits gifted her fruits and vegetables in a bid to gain her favor all of her meat was a credit to her mother and Tom Bandabil who had taught her the art of hunting. She was known for her skill with a sling and stones but her talent with a bow was something harder to come by in the Shire.

Hearing a knock on the door, Bilba called out, “Really Gandalf, it’s too late to grow manners now. Just come in.” Not bothering to turn around, Bilba continued to add carrots to the stew. Hearing a polite clearing of someone’s throat, she realized how short a time it had been since the wizard had left. 

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” the dwarf spoke causing Bilba to hastily turn to see to her guests. “Would this be the home of Bilbo Baggins?” A group of three dwarves stood just beyond her doorway, the spokesman of the group sweeping his hat off his head to offer a jaunty bow.

Taking a moment to wipe her hands on her apron Bilba examined her guests. One was the biggest dwarf she had ever seen with a figure that any hobbit could envy, rounded as he was he must have never known hunger, she thought critically. The other dwarf sported a weapon of some sort wedged in his head like a strange hat. The leader alone of their little group seemed normal, at least as normal as a dwarf could get.

“Master dwarf, there is no Bilbo Baggins. There is however a Bilba Baggins and you are in her home.” Ignoring the look of confusion on the dwarves’ faces she slid into the role of consummate hostess, “Now, go ahead and take off your boots, I’ll take your cloaks.” When they only stared at her Bilba knew they weren’t used to taking orders from creatures half their size. Well, they would learn. “Cloaks now, if you please. I only just found out I’d be having you lot over for dinner and there is much to do.” All but strong arming the hatted dwarf out of his cloak she was pleased to see the other two take the initiative to scramble out of their boots and cloaks.

“Err… well, you seem a bit, well, young.” The large dwarf stuttered when she turned narrowed eyes upon him.

“I’ll have you know I am a middle-aged woman and not the tween you seem to think I am. Now, none of you have introduced yourselves.” Placing her hands on her hips Bilba concluded dwarves and wizards alike had the worst manners imaginable. 

“How rude of us,” the ring-leader apologized, “Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur at your service.” They all offered a small bow as their names were said. 

“That’s much better. I apologize for not having more ready, I just found out you would be coming a short time ago. Gandalf has gone to the market to get additional food. Will there be any more joining us?” Taking out tankards Bilba drew out a healthy amount of ale for her guests, noting with approval the dwarves had settled at her table though Bombur’s chair groaned alarmingly when he sat down.

“Why thank you, miss. We number thirteen in total.” Grinding her teeth together as Bofur accepted the tankard Bilba plotted the demise of meddling wizards. While her larder was well stocked for one hobbit, feeding fourteen hungry guests was well beyond her means. To not have enough food to offer would cement her place as the worst hostess in the shire if any hobbit found out about it, it was a good thing she had already sent Gandalf out to get more food. 

Leaving her guests to fend for themselves as they waggled their fingers at each other Bilba drew out another pot to make another batch of stew. Dicing carrots, potatoes, and seasoning the stew liberally with spices the hobbit turned her attention to making bread to go with the stew. With only a few hours until dinner she could only hope she could pull off a full meal in time.

When another knock came at the door, she gave a nod to Bofur who seemed more than happy to attend to tasks a host would normally concern themselves with, having already filled their tankards a time or two.

“Dwalin, at your service.” A low voice said. Putting the bread in to cook Bilba wiped her hands on her apron and turned to great the stranger.

“Ah, Mister Dwalin this is our host Miss Bilba Baggins.” Bofur introduced cheerily though the hobbit noticed his fingers were flapping wildly as he did so. 

“Dwalin, at your service,” the burly dwarf said giving the hobbit a short bow. 

“Bilba Baggins at yours, please make yourself at home. Before you do please remove your boots and cloak, hard enough to keep nature outside without boots dragging it in. There’s plenty of ale to make you comfortable.” Getting her new quest settled with a drink she turned to eye her cottage critically. While she had enough chairs to comfortably seat six and a large table, the rest would have to perch on trunks. Well, she comforted herself, there was nothing for it. Best to focus on what could be made better in such a short time.

It wasn’t long before another dwarf was knocking on her door, Balin as he was introduced, with Bofur continuing to act as doorman. He seemed to possess more manners than the others, after he head-butted his brother which had caused her plates to rattle ominously, he come over and began chopping vegetables despite her many protests.

“Now, really! What sort of host am I to have quests helping to prepare the meal?” She huffed, amused despite herself when the white haired dwarf steered her away from the stove to sit at the table as Bofur pulled out a tankard for her. 

“A host must make merry with her guests!” Bombur called, raising his glass in her direction.

“Yes, otherwise she is no host at all!” Two new dwarves called as they swept into low bows to greet her, “Kili and Fili at your service!” The two scamps were intercepted by a growling Bifur who seemed to rumble at them until they had removed their cloaks and boots.

“Bilba Baggins at yours!” She sang out, feeling the beginning of the ale settling into her belly. What had seemed so horrible not hours ago was now filling her with a giddy joy. It had been months since her last visit to Tom and Goldberry’s cottage where she could enjoy another’s company. While these dwarves seemed a little rough around the edges as they jostled, head-butted, and sloshed their ale about they were respectful to her and seemed to understand what she offered was all she had to give. 

Once the boys had gotten settled with their own drinks and were seated on the large chest that had been pulled over from the foot of her bed, the wizard finally appeared. “Ah, Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Kili, and Fili it is good to see you well!” Gandalf greeted, placing bags upon bags of dried meat, cheese, and bread on the table. Bilba rose to begin setting out plates and platters aplenty when she saw the way her guests eyed the fare longingly. It seemed Gandalf had not been exaggerating about how long the dwarves had been on the road, the hobbit concluded as the first platter of cheese and bread was made short work of. 

Another knock sounded at her door as she was cutting up a loaf of bread for the next platter; setting aside the food she waved Bofur away with a kind smile. Yes, it was nice to have visitors again after all. 

“Oh goodness!” Looking down at the pile of dwarves at her feet Bilba wasn’t quite sure how to great the groaning pile of dwarves that wormed about her floor trying to straighten themselves out. 

“Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin, Gloin, and the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.” Gandalf ticked off his long fingers, giving a delighted smile when he reached the full company number of thirteen. 

Feeling a bit out of place as the dwarves greeted on another with shouts and slaps on the back Bilba gave up on trying to get them out of boots and cloaks with so much noise and shouting that filled her home near to bursting. She was pleased to see fingers waggling which soon accomplished the chore as the newcomers shot startled looks in her direction before hastily complying. Whatever it was they were doing with their fingers must be a sort of sign, she decided as they seemed to understand one another perfectly by doing so. 

“Bilba Baggins, at your service.” She announced once the noise had settled somewhat, sweeping into a stately curtsey. Let it never be said that Bungo Baggins hadn’t done right by his only child, drilling into her the etiquette expected by the old families. 

“This Gandalf, this is to be our burglar?” With so many names all at once she couldn’t say with certainty who it was that looked down his nose at her, a sneer twisting his features into a near perfect imitation of the countenance Lobelia wore whenever she saw her cousin.

Drawing herself up to her full height, Bilba thrust out her chin, and stomped one foot down. While Bungo Baggins had taught her manners he had also taught her how to initiate suitable defenses. To stomp a foot was to draw attention to one’s social standing. The size and shape, the hair that covered the tops of the feet, and the chain worn by female hobbits were usually a quick way of summing up where one stood, making verbal spars short and pithy. 

To her confusion, the rude Dwarf didn’t break his eye contact and didn’t react to her challenge other than to give a short bark of laughter, “Not a burglar at all, a mere chit who looks like she could be no more than a grocer’s daughter.” 

Laughter warred with a warm rush of anger. The stupid fellow had no idea who she was or what he was truly saying. Turning to Gandalf she washed her hands of the situation, “Gandalf, may I remind you I have agreed to house and feed the dwarves you invited in, making it your job to educate them on how things are done.” Bustling off to finish preparing the meal she missed the wide eyed looks exchanged between the dwarves as their leader was taken to task by the wizard.

“If I say Bilba Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar she is!” Feeling the wave of power shaking her whole cottage the hobbit decided manners could wait for when her home wasn’t in danger of being torn apart by an upset Istari. 

“Here now, dinner is done and I won’t have it going to waste.” She announced, setting out the last platter of cheese and fruit. As the dwarves crowded around to fill their bowls with stew and nabbing hearty chunks of cheese and bread, Bilba couldn’t shake the feeling that Gandalf wouldn’t be content to escort her to Tom and Goldberry’s home and would somehow win her company on his latest harebrained scheme. Wizards truly were the worst house-guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took a week longer than I had hoped to get this chapter out but it's longer to make up for the wait. I'm going to shoot for a chapter a week.
> 
> Now Bilba's met all the dwarves so that is safely out of the way, thank goodness. Writing so many introductions was both fun and tedious!


	4. To Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, your father gave me this to give to you; and if I have chosen my own time and way of handing it over, you can hardly blame me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember his own name when he gave me the paper, and he never told me yours; so on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked. Here it is,” Gandalf laughed, pushing the map closer to Thorin.

What had started with an ill-matched pair of parents had resulted in an equally strange child. While other fauntlings could be found underfoot stealing pies or getting up to mischief with other children Bilba Baggins was perpetually by herself covered in mud. Some denounced the child as out of control while others chuckled that children were known to do such things, she would grow out of it.

When she turned twenty and was nowhere to be found for her birthday a search party was formed. While most children knew well enough to stay away from the Brandywine River occasionally one would wander too close. The willful child known for disappearing into the woods could have been gobbled up by any manner of creature, the hobbits whispered whenever Bungo or Belladonna Baggins were out of earshot.

When she appeared the next day just as filthy as usual but no worse for the wear she was quickly taken to be cleaned up and put to bed. The rumors started up the next day; ignored by all but the most fussy of hobbits, there was something unnatural about Bilba Baggins. No hobbit lass should enjoy wandering off so much, they said. A few even took to making the sign of the Green Lady when the faunt would pass them on their way to the market. This stopped when Belladonna had caught one woman doing so and threatened to bring her sword out from its place on the mantel. While this kept the traditionalists from making any outward signs, it wasn’t missed that Bilba continued to disappear for days at a time on adventures.

While most hobbits by thirty had started showing signs of being interested in courting Bilba remained as unattached and wild as she had been at ten. Like a bad farthing, the rumors of her strangeness began anew. Hadn’t the family been close with a Disturber of the Peace? Wasn’t it said he was a wizard? What if the faunt was bewitched? Surely such un-hobbit like behavior was cause for concern!

When two years of poor crops brought the first rumbling of discontent to the Shire it was concluded it was best to not have anything to do with hobbits who didn’t know their place or flaunted going against the natural order of things. Why, Sarah Grubb enjoyed her cups too much. Well, best to distance oneself from her and her family reasoned the hobbits as they stopped their weekly delivery of food to help the ailing family. After all, with such harsh times families had to look out for themselves. Tea time visits to the Baggins household began to wane.

When the winter came early it was whispered that the Green Lady had been offended. Never before had there been such cold and snow so early. On top of the already low provisions stored it didn’t take long for families to begin rationing what they had left. Bilba knew something was wrong when Bungo took to tightening his belt instead of spooning third helpings onto his plate. Her fears were confirmed when her parents sat her down to tell her they needed to make the food last. Worst of all, she was no longer allowed to wander as wolves had been seen circling closer and closer to town. It was the beginning of the end. 

* * *

 

“And that’s what Bilba Baggins hates!” The merry tune finished, the dwarves looking inordinately pleased with themselves as a pile of clean dishes sat proudly on her countertop. The only dwarf who remained stubbornly quiet was their leader, something that Bilba resolutely ignored. It was enough for her that he bit his tongue, she wouldn’t press her luck by trying to draw him into the merriment.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re all quite proud of yourselves. Blunting the knives indeed.” Bilba groused without any real heat behind it as she began to light the candles.

“And now, to business,” spreading a map over the table as the dwarves once again gathered around as Gandalf seemed to draw himself up, his manner becoming serious. “This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin.... It is a plan of the Mountain.” A hushed silence fell upon the dwarves, each craning their necks to get a good look at the map.

“There is a passage to the Lower Halls,” said the wizard, “it is a secret entrance. I do not have the skill to read the map, but there are still some in Middle Earth who do.” Tapping one long pointed finger against the map, Gandalf sat back in his chair seeming to take in every face around him. Drawing a chair up to the table, Bilba nursed her ale quietly.

“It may have been secret once,” said Thorin, “but how do we know that it is secret any longer? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves.”

“He may -- but he can't have used it.”

“Why?”

“Because it is too small. It is a small passage, built into the Mountain for escape. A backdoor, if you will.” A ripple of excitement flowed through the room.

“How could such a door be kept secret from everybody outside, apart from the dragon?” Bilba asked. Surely others would have gone in, while a dragon was an excellent deterrent a lost kingdom would be a siren’s call for those hoping to reclaim their former glory or looter’s looking for a quick raid.

“In lots of ways,” said Gandalf. “But in what way this one has been hidden we don't know without having the map read. I should guess there is a closed door which has been made to look exactly like the side of the Mountain. That is the usual dwarves' method -- I think that is right, isn't it?” At the nods of agreement from around the table Gandalf continued. “I forgot to mention that with the map went a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!” he said, and handed Thorin a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, made of silver. “Keep it safe!”

“Indeed I will,” said Thorin, and he fastened it upon a leather thong and hung about his neck and under his jacket. “Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea what to do. We thought of going East, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake. After that the trouble would begin.”

“A long time before that, if I know anything about the roads East,” interrupted Gandalf.

“I have often wondered about my father's and my grandfather's escape. I see now they must have had a private side-door which only they knew about. But apparently they made a map, and I should like to know how came you by this, and why it did not come down to me, the rightful heir.” Thorin’s voice rumbled, a demand for answers clear.

“I did not ‘get hold of it,’ I was given it,” said the wizard looking affronted at the very thought of doing anything underhanded. “Thrain, your father, went away a hundred years ago and has never been seen by you since.”

“True,” Thorin conceded.

“Well, your father gave me this to give to you; and if I have chosen my own time and way of handing it over, you can hardly blame me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember his own name when he gave me the paper, and he never told me yours; so on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked. Here it is,” Gandalf laughed, pushing the map closer to Thorin.

“I don't understand,” said Thorin. Rising from her seat, Bilba began refilling the dwarves’ ale. When Gandalf had spoken of an adventure she had thought of her own, merry jaunts throughout the country. This, this was shaping up to be something of a much darker nature. Resisting the urge to make the sign of the Green Lady, Bilba resolved to make their time in her home as pleasant as possible to bolster them against the hardships sure to come. Giving a short nod to herself she filled Dwalin’s cup close to overflowing, giving him a small wink when he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Your grandfather,” said the wizard slowly and grimly, “gave the map to his son for safety before he went to the mines of Moria. Your father went away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed; and lots of adventures of a most unpleasant sort he had, but he never got near the Mountain. How he got there I don't know, but I found him a prisoner in the dungeons of the Necromancer.”

“And what were you doing there, wizard?” asked Thorin, leaning forward.

“Never you mind. I was finding things out, as usual; and a nasty dangerous business it was. Even I only just escaped. I tried to save your father, but it was too late. He was witless and wandering, and had forgotten almost everything except the map and the key. He wanted you to have it.”

“We have long ago paid the goblins of Moria,” said Thorin; “we must give a thought to the Necromancer.” Bilba rather thought he should focus on one problem at a time and it seemed Gandalf agreed with her assessment.

“Don't be absurd! He is an enemy quite beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from the four corners of the world. The one thing your father wished was for his son to read the map and use the key. The dragon and the mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!”

Topping off Balin’s drink left her unprepared for the conversation to turn towards her. “This is why you will need a burglar, to get the Arkenstone to unite your kin, reclaim your birthright, and protect against the coming threat. And, that is why I have found you the very best,” boomed Gandalf, throwing out an arm to gesture at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I posted but hopefully two within a week will make up for it somewhat. This chapter is a lot of the backstory and getting some of the tired re-used conversation out of the way that's so necessary for the plot. I pulled from both the book and movie so hopefully it's not as boring to get through. Next chapter will finish out the dreaded contract questions and get our heroes on the way out the door.


	5. The Journey Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why, Gandalf, I think you’ve gone a bit off in your old age,” plowing through his spluttering, Bilba continued, “I believe I just told you, not moments ago, I was not going to be a part of your hare-brained schemes.” Puffing quickly on her pipe, she tried to form a smoke ring but ended up with a disk instead. Squinting sternly at the shape she tried again. 
> 
> “Nothing of the sort, I merely intend to wear you down,” the wizard puffed up with an air of importance that had Bilba sucking in a laugh full of smoke causing her to hack like a tween caught with their parent’s pipeweed for the first time.

“Gandalf, may I have a word with you outside?” Smiling sweetly, she didn’t bother waiting for a response as she carefully put down the pitcher of ale and went into the front garden. Settling herself on the stone bench, she pulled out her pipeweed. It wouldn’t do to have such a serious conversation while as wound up as a bow string.

“Why, my dear, what have I done to upset you so?” Keeping her gaze fixed towards the path that led from her small cottage to Hobbiton, Bilba crushed the desire to rise to his bait.

“What have you told them about me?” Tapping the stem of her pipe against the bottom of her lip, Bilba allowed the sounds of hushed conversations from her cottage and the slow chirping of insects to wash over her.

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” at her raised eyebrow he quickly amended, “nothing that couldn’t be true. You are a singular hobbit and the world is not in your books and maps, Bilba. It is out there.” Using his pipe to gesture towards the path and beyond, Bilba felt a chill go down her spine.

“Gandalf, this isn’t some quest that will be done in a fortnight. This is something much more serious than a fauntling’s idea of an adventure. This is stealing from a dragon to reclaim a kingdom halfway around the world. This is leaving the land I love.” Crossing her ankles demurely below her, Bilba stiffened her resolve. It was not easy to say no to a wizard, after all. “I will go with you as far as Tom and Goldberry’s house. You have ensured that much at least.”

For long minutes all that could be heard was the puffing and exhale of pipes in the night air. “You are a Took as well, Bilba. Did you know that your Great-Grand-Uncle Bullroarer Took was so large he could ride a real horse?”

“Yes, I had heard tell.”

“Well he could! In the Battle of Greenfields, he charged the Goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard it knocked the Goblin King's head clean off and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole. And thus, the battle was won and the game of golf invented at the same time.” She could practically feel his eyes light up as he spun his tale. Gandalf may have been known for his fireworks but he was second to none in storytelling.

“I do believe you made that up.” Despite herself, she could feel the tension in her shoulders easing, it had been some time since anyone had spoken favorably of her family. “Well, all good stories deserve embellishment. You'll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back.”

“Why, Gandalf, I think you’ve gone a bit off in your old age,” plowing through his spluttering, Bilba continued, “I believe I just told you, not moments ago, I was not going to be a part of your hare-brained schemes.” Puffing quickly on her pipe, she tried to form a smoke ring but ended up with a disk instead. Squinting sternly at the shape she tried again.

“Nothing of the sort, I merely intend to wear you down,” the wizard puffed up with an air of importance that had Bilba sucking in a laugh full of smoke causing her to hack like a tween caught with their parent’s pipeweed for the first time.

“Yes, alright then. You let me know how that goes.” Waving off his concern, Bilba focused on stopping her eyes from watering.

“I had best return inside. Thorin Oakenshield is a great leader but a patient man he is not.” Bilba barely kept from snorting in laughter, “I am sorry for any hardship I’ve caused you, dear Bilba. I’m afraid I have quite forgotten my manners in my dotage.” With a squeeze of her shoulder, he was gone. Tilting her head back and allowing her eyes to fall closed the hobbit was hard-pressed to steady the beating of her heart. Once, years ago, she would have leapt at the chance for an adventure. Would have squealed in delight at the idea of stealing from a dragon. Now, well now, it made her very teeth ache at the thought.

Hearing the sounds of song, a low mournful thing, she couldn’t justify neglecting her guests any longer. Snuffing out her pipe and straightening her skirts she once more felt like the master of her own home. Getting her guests settled down for the night was easy. After many days of travel a warm place on the floor was a marked improvement over the open road. When she fretted over the lack of quilts and blankets Bofur was quick to point out a traveling cloak was more than adequate when a cozy fire was going. With the only other room in the cottage a washroom, the floors of main room were completely covered in sleeping dwarrow. Bilba had intended on sleeping on the floor with her guests but there wasn’t room for even one more and none of the dwarrow would take her bed for the night. Even their sullen leader had rebuffed her offer, something she was secretly pleased about. Gandalf had taken her table as his bed and seemed more than happy to have the space to stretch out.

* * *

 

Being the first one up presented its own problems. Trying to make her way over to the washroom had her twisting and hopping over flailing arms and kicking legs had her on tip-toes to keep from stepping on anyone.

“By the Gaffer’s prized cabbage!” Bilba hissed as a large hand clasped itself around her ankle. Blushing furiously from the sheer inappropriateness of it she quickly tickled the dwarf’s nose and dashed away as soon as he released his hold. While she couldn’t quite remember his name, Nori or Dori, she was sure she’d wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes for the duration of the trip. While kisses and flirting were expected of unmarried sweethearts, to play with a woman’s ankle bracelet spoke of a much more intimate suggestion. While the raven-haired dwarf clearly hadn’t intended it, Bilba couln’t help giving her foot a little shake to get rid of the feel of a warm hand. Quietly closing the door she quickly cleaned herself with some soap and a wet rag before donning her traveling clothes. While she wore skirts and petticoats in the Shire breeches and a jacket were far more practical for the Wilds.

Leaving the washroom she was pleased to see the dwarves were already beginning to stir, Balin giving her a polite nod before taking his turn in the washroom. Careful to avoid going by Nori or Dori, the ankle-grabber, Bilba made her way to the kitchen area and began on breakfast. Tea was her first priority. Like a ghoul rising from the grave, Gandalf was suddenly up, peering around the room.

“My Gandalf, don’t you look stately this morning.” Bilba crowed, vowing never to forget the look of the wizard with half his hair plastered to his face.

“Mm, yes, quite.” Placing a cup of tea into his hands, she marked it as even.

“You should see uncle in the morning, it’s terrifying.” Fili rumbled, tugging on his boots. Seeing his brief turn of the head to indicate the leader of the company running a comb through his hair in an attempt to wrestle it into braids, the hobbit kept her comments to herself. When Belladonna had been alive she had regaled her daughter with stories of her adventures. One memorable occasion she had commented on a dwarf’s beard being untidy. It had resulted in a stilted silence the rest of their journey. While Bilba wouldn’t be with the company more than a few days, she didn’t want to risk offending anyone.

“Mom has always said he was the worst at keeping his braids neat.” Fili joined in, “it would have Grandfather in fits!”

“Fili, Kili. Go tend to the ponies.” With twin moans, the two dwarves ambled out. Holding back a chortle, Bilba noted that the two brothers were low in the pecking order and not shy about showing their displeasure. Turning her attention back to the food she gave the eggs a quick scramble. Putting together a breakfast took the remainder of her food stores, something that had Bilba worriedly checking her pack. There was nothing for it, she would have to hunt on the way to Tom and Goldberry’s. Having eaten all the bread and cheese the night before, all that was left were eggs and milk. While the dwarrow seemed put out at the light spread, only Dori drew attention to it by asking for seconds. He was quickly cuffed by Balin, but not before all the dwarrow suddenly found something else to look at along the walls or at their plates. Hiding her wince, she went about tidying up her tiny cottage. No doubt her disappearance would be noticed soon.

“Are you ready, Miss Baggins?” Balin asked kindly, tucking two large thumbs into his belt to occupy his hands.

“Yes, almost. With Gandalf back in town I’m sure word has spread and the Thain will be coming to investigate soon enough. No need to lock up.” Slinging her pack over her back, the hobbit took a fortifying breath. While she had been on many adventures and walking holidays, it had always been with the intent to return home. While Tom and Goldberry were very dear friends, the idea of staying with them indefinitely didn’t sit well with her. Resolving to get a new cottage built for herself as soon as possible, she felt marginally better about the whole thing. Maybe it was time for a fresh start after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a second chapter within a week.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my fic. This will not be a straight retelling of The Hobbit but will instead incorporate elements of both The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings.


End file.
